


Of galaxies and paintings

by scenerv



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artists, Bit ooc at times, Galaxies, How Do I Tag, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Stars, and so is wonwoo, jun is a artist, just word vomit, like very light, the stars are juns muse, wonwoo is a astronomer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scenerv/pseuds/scenerv
Summary: Junhui goes on a vacation to escape stress and paint galaxies and constellations.Wonwoo is there to teach him how~~~Crossposted on Wattpad as "Holes in the sky"





	Of galaxies and paintings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, um, this is my first fanfic that I'm posting here so please go easy on me ( ；´Д｀)  
> So I just wanted to say that Wonwoo may seem a bit occ at times, but I'll explain later.   
> Enjoy! (^-^)  
> P.s: I'm sorry if I made any typos or grammar errors

What is art?

Some say it's something definite; something that is concrete, learned. Something that has limitations, boundaries, rules; something that can be packaged, sold, taught in schools. Something that has lost its true value, to be frowned upon by scholar and business persons, something that is seen a lesser career, and yet is ravenously consumed by the masses.

Some argue that the public view on art is ruining it, destroying its base integrity, making it lose everything its come thousands of years in the making. Some say that art is not creativity but mimesis; beauty, truth, good, something far higher than just creativity, than just something to look at, to enjoy, to take in. Some say that art has no rules, no boundaries, no walls to climb.

Everything is art, they say; because everything created has a beauty to it. To some, an abstract painting of flower pots is not art, is not something they look at and think valuable, but a well put-together spreadsheet may seem beautiful.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Junhui is the latter of these opinions, constantly searching for what he believes in, constantly looking to expand, to learn, to bring his own form of art across genres, across countries. He has ambition, diversity, talent. He can dance, sing, draw, paint. He can do a lot of things most people can't, but he still struggles.

Being an art student is not without its downfalls. It's not the easy way out for those who can't do Science, and it's not some school where everyone just smokes a lot of weed and naps on the tables.

It's hard work, and it's constricting, forcing students into roles, into categories and sections. Draw your faces a certain way, sing a certain way.

"No that's not proper art, Junhui. If you want to draw galaxies you'll have to become an astronomer."

And Junhui hates it. Hates every second of it. Hates using a ruler for his lines, hates being told his voice isn't strong enough, doesn't come from the right place. He hates the exams where he's forced to dance a style he's not good at, hates sitting in a classroom and being forced to paint landscapes he doesn't care about, faces he will never remember.

Junhui wants to draw galaxies, wants to make the colours shine, wants to learn the constellations and map them into art, into his art. And no, Junhui doesn't want to become an astronomer, for he has no interest in how the stars work, has no interest in the fancy names that make up galaxies, in the scientific formulas that discuss how a star is formed.

Junhui just wants to see the stars. He wants to touch them, hold them, drag them across paper and tack them to his wall. And that's what he does too, dorm room covered in scribbled papers, things that might look like a mess of colour and lines to some, but art to him. It's art in his purest form, he argues. It's art because he created it, because he wanted to create it, and fuck you for not understanding.

Jihoon, his roommate, just thinks Junhui is a little quirky. The shy, yet confident dance major with his strange habits and soft spoken praises. Junhui is intelligent, has his ambitions in check, has an entire life set up for himself, and yet it's not enough.

"Why aren't you majoring in art if that's what you're so passionate about them?" Jihoon had asked, curious as to why Junhui chooses to hide his paintings, chooses to take only one spoken word class a semester.

"Dance looks better than art in the long run." Junhui had muttered, eyes not on Jihoon, but far away somewhere else, something not unusual for him. Jihoon had just hummed, rolling his eyes and leaving the room, and Junhui had stayed still.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Something about Jihoon's words stays with Junhui however, in the back of mind, reaching the front every once in a while to whisper into his ear, to wonder why Junhui can't just chase his dreams, why he hides.

And Junhui wonders what he can possibly do now, what he can possibly change in his life to achieve his galaxies, to find the stars and sleep among them.

The answer comes in the form of Jihoon - once again -- when the other boy hands him a brochure. A small country town, known for its tourist destinations and stargazing. It offers cheap housing -- only 50$ every week -- for two months, offers peace, quiet, solitude, a chance for Junhuito take his time off in between the semesters and breathe.

"You can draw your starry skies, and your galaxies, and you won't have to hide them under your bed." Jihoon says, voice muffled around the straw of a smoothie. "Seungkwan and Hansol went there last summer. They said the food is good and the tour guides are amazing."

"Why should I trust somewhere those two went?" Junhui mutters, reading the packet carefully, turning it over in his hands, scepticism across his face. "How do I know I won't end up in some sketchy love motel in the middle of the desert?"

"Seungkwan said it's a very respectable place." Jihoon says. "I told him you were going crazy and needed a faraway vacation and this was the first place he suggested. They know how much you love painting the sky."

"I don't want to paint the sky,"Junhui says cryptically. He's staring at the brochure intently, a small smile forming on his lips. "I want to look beyond it and paint the reflection of the universe as it stares back at me."

"You sound like a stoner."

"I sound like a poet," Junhui says dreamily, but his eyes narrow and he gives Jihoon a look. "I'll think about it. I planned on spending my summer with my parents."

"You spent the last few holidays with them," Jihoon points out, but he pats Junhui's knee consolingly, gives him a kind of smile, one that looks more like a grimace.

"You're right," Junhui sighs, letting him slump into Jihoon, eyes gazing up on the art on his ceiling, the carefully painted solar system. "I'll think about it."

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Thinking about it ends up being useless.

It's Seungkwan who shows up at their dorm building with his boyfriend and Jihoon in tow. Jihoon looks smug, disappearing into their shared shower to leave Seungkwan and Hansol with Junhui.

They convince him pretty easily, Junhui not being able to handle their double stares.

"I'll go," He says, pouting slightly. "I can't promise to have fun though."

"I had fun last time," Seungkwan says with a smirk, patting Junhui's knee much in the same way Jihoon had, except this time it feels more condescending and less reassuring.

"Seungkwan!" Junhui whines, pushing his hand away, frown deepening. "I'm single you know."

"Maybe you'll find love," Seungkwan singsongs, wiggling his eyebrows and leaning into Hansol's side. "You never know."

Junhui drags them out of his room and threatens to call to his RA, pushing them into the elevator with muttered promises that he'll order tickets, fly out to the middle of nowhere, enjoy himself maybe.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Junhui doesn't get to leave right away. There's still half a semester, still months of dancing, of composing, of going to his compulsory math course and resting his head on the desk as the numbers swim.

The all-inclusive ticket stays attached to his bulletin board, taped down with colourful owl stickers, glaring at him. Money spent that could have been spent on clothes, on food, on... Anything really.

He just hopes he has fun.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

The day arrives quite fast, final exams, final projects, final everything coming and going, leaving Junhui with a few packed bags, a wheeled suitcase, brand new sunglasses, celebrity airport fashion in check as he nervously boards the plane, nervously sits down near a window, nervously frets.

He hadn't really thought about that part, had been so focused on the getaway aspect, the excitement and also wariness of the quiet of a vacation, that Junhui has forgotten that he was going alone.

He's not one to go anywhere alone really, always dragging Jeonghan, Jisoo, Mingyu, Sooyoung, sometimes Minghao when he can get him alone and without prior commitments. Junhui likes company, like that metaphorical hand to hold, likes to have some confidence at his side when he does something new, goes somewhere new, tries something new.

And yet here he is, stumbling from a foreign airport, reading the instructions Seungkwan had scribbled in messy hangul, lips forming the words as he struggles to even remember Korean over the pounding of his heart.

The hotel isn't far, just a bit of a walk, but Junhui gets lost anyways, finds himself standing awkwardly at the edge of the town, trees in front of him rather than houses. He stares a little, looks into the darkness of a thick forest and back to the directions, frowning to himself, luggage heavy and eyelids drooping.

He's startled by a voice behind him, calling out in Korean.

"Are you lost?"

Junhui turns , paper falling from his hands when he trips over the suitcase he's dropped on the ground, cheeks flushing from the embarrassing squeak he lets out.

"Just a little," Junhui admits, and he smiles shyly, tries not to look directly at the boy standing in front of him. He can't be that much older than Junhui himself, youthful and good-looking, but with a sense of maturity around him, the heavy air of someone with responsibility. "I'm looking for the Jeon Bed and Breakfast Hotel?"

"Oh!" The boy exclaims, reaching for Junhui's fallen luggage and paper directions without needing to, beaming up at him. "That's my grandparent's hotel. I'm staying there right now and I can show you where it is."

"I'm Wonwoo," The boy tells him as they walk, as Junhui struggles to keep up with his brisk pace. "What brings you around these parts?"

"I'm Junhui," He answers, fumbling over his syllables, flustered for no apparent reason. "My friends, they said this would be a good place for a vacation so I could work on my art."

"Art!" Wonwoo says in a curious voice, dust floating in the air as his shoes scuff across the gravel road. "What kind of art?"

"I do a lot of art things," Junhui says, voice stiff and accent noticeable, the stumbling Korean that he develops when nervous. "I go to an art school, but mostly painting. I like the sky."

"The sky is beautiful isn't it?" Wonwoo nods, hums to himself and glances back at Junhui with a twinkle in his eye, too friendly for strangers, but somehow okay. "It's nicer at night though. You can't paint the true sky until you've the stars in a rural light."

"This is my first time being to the country," Junhui admits as they climb the steps of an older building, more of a small mansion than a hotel, but he's not in the city anymore, not surrounded by modernized buildings.

"You'll love it," Wonwoo assures him, signing Junhui in at the front desk himself, grinning when he realizes what vacation packet Junhui has; the full seasonal package. "You're going to be here for quite a while?"

"All summer," Junhui mutters, just the tiniest hint of bitterness in his voice. "I wasn't given a choice."

Wonwoo looks concerned for a moment, as if Junhui had just said he'd been kidnapped and tossed here, but the look fades away to be replaced with an amiable smile.

"If you get lonely you could always hangout with me," Wonwoo grins, patting Junhui on the shoulder as if they've known each for years. He pauses and looks at Junhui curiously. "That is unless you're not actually alone."

"I'm alone," Junhui says, much too quickly. It almost feels like Wonwoo is hitting on him, asking him if he's here alone, a wink and a nudge with a greasy smile, but Wonwoo just nods, pats him on the shoulder again, helps him bring his luggage up the second floor.

It's not a large hotel.

It only has eight rooms, two of them occupied by the owners and by Wonwoo, who tells Junhui with excitement that his window is the best one in the entire building for stargazing.

"That is aside from the roof," He says jokingly, nose crinkling. "But that doesn't really count as a room."

"You really like the stars...?" Junhui asks, question trailing off as he stands awkwardly in the door of Wonwoo's room, gazes past him to the window in question, where the sunlight streams directly inside, shining from the west.

"I major in astronomy in college," Wonwoo says, closing his door, fingers closing around the handle of Junhui's suitcase, rolling it down the hall towards another door. "I'll give you the second best room. That way the sun can rise in your room and set in mine."

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Junhui meets Wonwoo's grandparents over dinner, awkwardly joining them at a table in the dining room when he ventures downstairs, waved over by Wonwoo. There are a few guests here and there -- literally a few, the hotel is tiny - and they glace curiously at Junhui as he sits down for food, shyly looking down at the worn wood of the table, and not at the people talking to him.

He doesn't know why he's so shy, thought he'd gotten over that in the tail end of high school, but here he is, tips if his ears turning red, lopsided and nervous grin plastered on his face.

Wonwoo's grandparents are nice, and so is Wonwoo, referring to Junhui as his new friend for the summer, jokingly saying that Junhui can carry his equipment up to the hill when he charts constellations. Junhui doesn't say much, but he silently agrees to just that, drawn in by the way Wonwoo's body shakes with laughter at his own, lame jokes.

He's cute. Junhui can admit that right away. Junhui came here to paint though, so he ignores the blooming attraction that's already threatening to distract him.

Wonwoo has potential to be great company, and he has potential to teach Junhui, show him accurate constellations, teach him to paint the galaxies and swirl his colours into nebulas.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Wonwoo drags Junhui out the next evening, grumbling about the weather; it had stormed all day, trapping them indoors, Junhui hiding in his room half asleep in bed until Wonwoo had burst, had whined, had demanded that Junhui as the only one even near his age needed to play cards with him.

Now they're trekking into the forest Junhui had gotten lost at the edge of the day before, Wonwoo carrying a telescope, some papers, a rolled up blanket, Junhui carrying a small dinner for them, containers of food, a sketchbook; for ideas.

He doesn't like painting right away, prefers to visit his locations, his inspirations multiple times before, likes to sketch the sky, the trees, the lines where they meet before solidifying them forever with paint, before carefully stacking them, sliding them under his bed.

Junhui usually doesn't sketch with others around him, rarely paints under the watchful gaze of a friend. It's one of the few things he does do alone, one of the few times his loud laughter and excited babbling voice cease to exist.

Wonwoo however, had insisted, and within one day Junhui is already whipped, already agreeing, already following, smitten and ashamed of himself.

But Wonwoo is good company, explaining how his telescope works as he sets it up, tells Junhui to turn the knob this way and that until he yells "there!" to signal that its in focus, that it can make out the stars.

And Wonwoo had been right, that one can never properly see stars until they leave the city. It's beautiful, a scattered display of light across a clear sky, grass under neath them still slightly damp from the storm, blanket providing a tiny barrier.

The blanket's small -- the size of a beach towel really -- and Junhui feels apprehensive, nervous, wonders if it's okay to be so close, knees pressed together when they barely know each other.

Wonwoo doesn't even seem to notice, pointing to random places in the sky and spewing facts, answers to questions Junhui hasn't even had the chance to ask yet. He asks Junhui's zodiac sign, humming appreciatively but then sadly.

"We can't see that constellation from this part of the sky, but when we have internet back at the hotel I'll show you," Wonwoo says with a grin. "I have an app that shows you the constellations wherever you are in the world."

"I want to paint my constellation," Junhui says suddenly, breaking the silence he'd been under , breaking the spell that Wonwoo's calming voice had cast over him.

"Not yet," Wonwoo tells him. "You're not allowed to paint your sign until you understand it, until you know the history and the meaning and you can feel it, can feel the colours you're going to put into it."

"And what if I don't want to add colour?" Junhui asks, nose bumping off the telescope as he attempts to gaze inside, attempts to find the stars Wonwoo had told him to find, attempting to piece them together.

It makes no sense to him right now, just a pretty sky illuminated and magnified through a glass, but to Wonwoo this means something, and Junhui can already catch on to how much, can already see the way Wonwoo's heart is on display, a set of doors swung open at the word "astronomy."

(it's cute.)

They go home late. Junhui isn't sure what time it is, just knows that they've been outside for a while, the feel of fresh air in his lungs invigorating, spirits soft, light as they walk back through the quiet, the complete darkness that only the country can really create.

It's a nice first day, and Junhui finds himself looking forward to the rest of it, fingers tracing the outlines of grey shaded trees, starry sky above them.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Junhui isn't sure what he expects out of vacationing in a small town alone, but it definitely isn't the days he spends with Wonwoo.

It's exhilarating in a way, uplifting; the attention Wonwoo gives him, the kind, gentle way in which he leads him, Junhui following his every subtle, unspoken command like a well-trained puppy.

And it's incredible really, how quickly they fall into this pattern, how quickly they grow to know each other, to be around each other.

How quickly Wonwoo becomes a fixture in Junhui's caged life.

He teaches him.

Galaxies, nebulas, how a black-hole really works.

And he shows him.

How to put stories behind his art, how to translate thoughts into strokes, hand on Junhui's knee and voice in his ear, too close, but not close enough, comfortable, welcomed.

Junhui is smitten -- just slightly, just a little -- and he's not someone to deny things to himself, not someone to step in front of a mirror and speak lies to his own reflection. He's reckless yes, impulsive yet shy, but Junhui is honest.

It happens on one of their nights out, the hill that overlooks the sea, Junhui'slegs thrown over Wonwoo's.

Junhui's supplies are on the grass beside them, untouched. He'd planned on painting, grabbed his things, canvas paper, thin, clean brushes, unused yet. He'd wanted to make the change, had the feeling, go from sketchbook to the real thing tonight.

Wonwoo's are untouched also. Telescope folded and charts rolled up, still wound with an elastic band -- exactly four loops, as Wonwoo always does -- sitting, ruffling in the wind, but ignored.

Junhui thinks that this is the time, this is where it's going to happen, and he sits up, keeps his legs over Wonwoo's, ends up awkwardly half in his lap; half out. He wraps his arms around Wonwoo's neck, noses his way up, tickles his jaw.

Wonwoo doesn't say anything, just regards him with gentle eyes, ones that seem to sparkle in the moonlight that reflects from the water's surface, waves quiet tonight, calm even in the soft breeze.

And Junhui, he's honest, heart on his sleeve and feelings sure, always sure. He doesn't deny things to himself, and he can't deny them to Wonwoo, can't stop the soft flow of words, nervous, stuttered but honest.

Can't stop himself from tentatively moving forward, fingers curling around the nape of Wonwoo's neck, tugging forward, gentle like Wonwoo himself, loving in a way, though it's too early for that, too early for anything really.

But not really because lips are brushing against lips, unresponsive but then too responsive, overwhelming as Wonwoo takes control, pulls Junhui fully into his lap, maps out new constellations with his tongue, tracing the chemical make up of a star across his teeth.

Wonwoo pulls away first, and his eyes aren't gentle, fingers curling tight around Junhui's wrist as he drags him home, supplies forgotten on the hill. "It's safe though" he says, glancing back at Junhui with a smile -- a gentle one -- it's the country, a small town, he knows everyone. No one's going to steal their things.

In the end, back pressed to the mattress and filthy words on his tongue, praises, whines, needs, desperation in the form of his back arching off the bed, it's Wonwoo who ends up being the real thief.

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

Junhui thinks, wonders, stares at the constellations, at the names that appear, disappear with the swipe of his fingers, with the turn of his phone. He wonders if Wonwoo thinks about him, wonders if he too stares at his star chart app, wonders how different the stars look on the other side of the world.

And that's the difficult part really, the part that eats away at Junhui's consciousness, the part that has him sighing into pillows, sighing into Jihoon's shoulder, sighing over dinner with Chan and Sooyoung.

He doesn't text Wonwoo though, ignores the contact name in his phone, waits to see if Wonwoo will maybe text him.

Wonwoo doesn't. His name never flashes across Junhui's screen, never pops up with words and emoticons. Junhui takes it as a sign, doesn't try, doesn't text, goes back to school wishing he'd visited his parents, wishing that he'd just gone to China instead of some tiny town in the wilderness.

But Junhui doesn't regret it really, doesn't regret the feel of the cold grass tickling his skin, doesn't regret the sky as it had stared down at him, had told him stories and whispered in his ear. He doesn't regret Wonwoo, poking his head through Junhui,s door, dragging him out at 3am with telescope in hand, charts upon charts, shoved into Junhui's hands as Wonwoo would chat excitedly.

He doesn't regret the nights spent in Wonwoo's room either, doesn't regret the times they were close -- too close -- and the times Wonwoo didn't pull back, the times he'd reached out, different look on his features, fingers splaying gently across Junui's face, eyes warm, inviting.

And Junhui had been so sure in that moment, had been so sure that the time they'd spent was that kind of time, that it had meant something, but Wonwoo's lips had been unresponsive, eyes sad as he'd pulled away, gentle smile coupled with a crippling rejection, a "Junnie, I can't."

Junhui hadn't understood, had stumbled backwards, breathing ragged and betrayal on his tongue. It had meant something, they had meant something. But Wonwoo had never said why, had pulled away that last time, still gentle. So fucking gentle.

It had been an awkward last week, an absence of Wonwoo's quiet knocks at his door, an absence of eating breakfast with Wonwoo sneaking away from the kitchen, apron on as he talks from across the table, hair messy like a lion's mane.

But Junhui doesn't regret it, not really. He just wants - he just wants to know if there had been something, if Wonwoo had wanted to be his friend, wanted to be more, or if he had just wanted some kind of companionship, someone to toy with and spew nonsense about galaxies to for the summer.

And Junhui would like to regret it, would like to sit in his dorm, forget about Wonwoo and wait for classes to start, but here he is, redrawing his constellation chart, brush flying across the page with accuracy this time, an unfolded piece of paper in front of him as reference.

Wonwoo had told him to draw galaxies, to draw the constellations, had taught him what goes where, the meaning, the history behind each star, each set of stars that create a picture in his mind, a personality here and there.

The new chart, the new silver lines look beautiful on his ceiling, shine down where he's carefully the strung his fairylights across the dots, -- a silver light for each star, gold for others -- his name signed near the bottom, with a tiny thank you note underneath.

He's only numb for a while really -- turns on his theatrics in a way that would do Seokmin proud -- but Junhui recovers. It was just a few months, just a vacation, just a boy that had changed him, turned his passions, his paintings, his heart to tiny supernovas.

Maybe he'll go back next summer. Maybe he'll be more mature, better prepared, pretend that nothing had ever happened, skip into the hotel and singsong, "What's up Wonwoo?"

For now Junhui decides to sleep, crossing the room to curl up in Jihoon's bed, smell his strange cologne lingering on his pillowcase, smile feline as he dozes.

 

 

☽ ☯☆☾

 

 

They do see each other again.

It's nothing dramatic, but nothing casual ever, Junhui tripping over his own feet when he sees a familiar face on campus. Wonwoo looks good -- always looks good -- and Junhui can't figure out why he's here, even when Wonwoo tells him he's in the city to visit his mother, had wanted to stop by and see his favourite constellation.

It's bittersweet, those words. Bittersweet laughing along with Wonwoo, introducing him to Sooyoung, to Mingyu, to the rest of them as his friend. Just his friend, nothing more, nothing less.

And even though it's been months -- three to be exact -- Wonwoo acts as if nothing happened, as if he's been texting Junhui, skyping him, keeping in touch like the lovely friends they are, the lovely friends they were, dancing to the tune of each other's bodies in a tiny hotel.

Wonwoo apologizes, and it's gentle, soft words, head hung low.

"I'm sorry," He tells Junhui, brushes his thumb across his bottom, looks at him with this sad smile, one that's heavy; with guilt, with regret, with something else Junhui can't quite pick out through his tears.

And Junhui, he never denies, is honest, opens the lock of his heart for Wonwoo -- has had it opened since he turned that first day to see his face -- lets him inside to make his home there.

"I only wanted to make sure-" Wonwoo starts, but he stops, fingers splayed across Junhui's cheek, a single caress that mirrors the shattering of Junhui's heart. "You were only there for a few months, Jun. I couldn't just make promises I didn't know how to keep."

"And now you're here," Junhui says quietly, bitterly, nothing gentle in the spitefulness of his tone, the narrowing of his eyes. "Now you're here to remind me."

"Remind you of what?" Wonwoo asks, and his fingers fall from Junhui's face, body awkward as he takes a single step backward, nearly a half step. A hesitant one, an unsure one. Where is this going to lead us?

"Just because-" Junhui says, and he's choking up again, feels stupid -- so fucking stupid -- for all these feelings all this unnecessary angst pouring from his skin, his mouth, his eyes. He was only there for a two months. Only two months, and yet it's a life time. "Just because someone teaches you how-"

"How to what, Junhui?" And Wonwoo's tone is gentle, patient and he hates it, he fucking hates it. Hates when Wonwoo treats him like he's so reckless. And he is, he fucking is, but that doesn't matter right now.

"Just because someone teaches you how to paint galaxies doesn't mean you should," Junhui says furiously, gets his sentence out and doesn't even cringe at his own dramatics, doesn't care. "Art is a toy to you, is it not? A tool? You didn't want a companion, you just wanted in my pants. And when the time was up you sent me away."

"I was scared, Junnie," Wonwoo says quietly, and his lips quirk up into some kind of twisted smirk, a grimace really. It looks pained, straining against his features, ugly, raw. "You showed up in town on some impulse vacation to paint stars and i fell, I fell so fucking hard and didn't think of the consequences."

"There shouldn't be consequences," Junhui spits out. "Why should there have been?"

"Long distance... It's not easy you know."

"No shit," Wonwoo says, and he's laughing now, a short kind of giggle, maniacal almost. "But you could have texted me, at least. Even just as a friend."

"We don't have to be friends," Wonwoo murmurs, and his finger traces Junhui's cheek again, eyes burning in the low light of the room -- Wonwoo's hotel room this time -- fingertips hot, scarring, tracing comets across skin.

"And when you're far away?" Junhui asks. "When you're with your grandparents or in your other small town, the one you work in?"

"That's why I'm here right now," Wonwoo says quietly, and his smile, it's not a grimace now, but the smile he'd given Junhui that first night, sitting on the blanket, knees pressed together and facts spilling from knowledgeable lips. "I live in the city now. We could -- we could start over -- be something more, something better. Not just a summer fling."

"How long?" Junhui asks suddenly, and he's thinking of that question, that thought in his mind.

What is art? His thoughts whisper, and then they answer, breathe, starry across his vision. Wonwoo, that's art.

Junhui's thoughts, they're usually right, because he doesn't deny, doesn't lie, looks Wonwoo in the eye and grins through his tears, realizes the promise, the boldness, the sheer courage of Joonmyun's words.

"How long?" Wonwoo echoes, and his hold on Junhui falters slightly, prize slipping from his hands, little town blooming, crawling into view.

"You once told me, on the hill," Junhui says, and he remembers it well. "Right before I kissed you, you told me that everything has a star life. That everyone is born and explodes into matter, into supernovas that burst and are reborn."

"I did," Wonwoo says, and he's smiling softly -- gentle -- now. "And I will always believe that."

"How long is our star life?" Junhui asks, and his accent is growing thicker, palms clammy and heart thundering, tiny bursts of sound in his chest. "How long before we hit our peak, before we explode -- or implode -- into the night sky."

"I only look at the stars," Wonwoo says, and it's cheesy, but that's what Junhui likes, always a sucker for poetry, always a sucker for each bit of art that's thrown his way, brought out into the light and dusted off, not hidden under a dorm room bed. "I look at them, map them, remember them. You're the one who paints their stories. You have the canvas."

"It's up to you, how long we last."

What is art?

Art is pure, created by the way Wonwoo forms the syllables of an apology, created with the touch of Wonwoo's fingertips, the digging of nails into Junhui's hips, the body shaking thrusts and the trembling aftercare.

Art is the way in which Wonwoo holds Junhui, firm in his arms and points out the few stars they can see from their high up balcony in the city, the way Junhui's hands, equipped with a brush fly across canvas. Portraits, Wonwoo with smoky comet trails circling his arms.

Art is subjective, different to each who comes upon, to each person that interacts, that thinks, or doesn't think. Art is universal beautiful, the spattering of silver on canvas, or in the sky.

Art is the "I love you" Wonwoo whispers, tongue tracing the shell of Junhui's ear, unnoticed by Wonwoo's grandparents who chat happily across the table, pleased to have Junhui back in town, to have the sunshine boy they're so fond of keeping Wonwoo company as he works.

And Art, art is the "daddy" that later falls from Junhui's lips, dripping with promise, pleading, gorgeous, the constellation of Gemini shaped bruises that cover his body, hickeys and love bites, Wonwoo between his legs.

Art is never definite, not something picked out easily, but it means something.

They mean something.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello(if you got that reference ily) it's me again, so I just wanted to explain why Wonwoo is a bit occ.  
> Originally Junhui was going to be the astronomer(cause why the heck not?) but because my brain is on planet Mars I mixed the names up (ノД`)   
> Stupid right?  
> Anyway, originally I was going to change it back, but I'm to lazy to actually change(and edit on that note) 5k words, plus my art project has been on my nerves （ーー；) (can't fail art school)  
> So I hope it doesn't bother anyone.  
> For now bye! (^-^)/
> 
> Fun fact: This fanfic is based on my struggles of when i began studying in my current art school  
>  
> 
> Twitter ichogiwantodie


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